


Cowboy

by tracy7307



Series: Harringrove ficlets [5]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 12:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17580944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracy7307/pseuds/tracy7307
Summary: The cowboys of Neil's old westerns are stoic loners. Nothing scathes them – nothing touches them. They might be made of petrified wood or gunmetal or some substance made hard by pressure and time.On days like today, Billy envies them. He wishes he could be made of rock as tears start dripping from his chin.





	Cowboy

Neil likes to watch old black and white westerns. 

It’s not like Billy ever touches the dial on the TV or would even want to spend any amount of time in the living room when Neil’s around, but he knows that whenever a scratchy old movie appears with a dusty main street and a sauntering cowboy, that’s what Neil will watch from his armchair.

Billy sits down hard on the grass still slick with morning dew, flopping back against the wall to the empty concession stand at the football field. The tardy bell for first hour rings, but he doesn’t move.

He picks a blade of grass and turns it over in his fingers and thinks of the heroes of those films. He might not ever stick around to watch, but he’s seen enough to know what they’re like. 

Stoic loners. Nothing scathes them – nothing touches them. They might be made of petrified wood or gunmetal or some substance made hard by pressure and time. 

On days like today, Billy envies them. He wishes he could be made of rock as tears start dripping from his chin. 

Today is the only day he’s buttoned his shirt all the way up. His mother’s necklace lies next to his own on his chest, dangling slightly longer, gold and cool against his skin. 

“Hey,” Steve says as he slides down next to Billy on the ground. Presses tight to Billy’s side. “It’s April 24th.” 

“Yeah,” Billy says as Steve takes his hand. Kisses it. 

“Her birthday.” Steve’s breath appears in the cool morning air. 

Billy nods. Steve wraps an arm around Billy’s shoulder and pulls him closer, touches their heads together. Silence falls between them, and Billy thinks of of the memories he’s shared with Steve over these last few months in the quiet of Steve’s room, memories swirling around him now like dandelion seeds blown by the wind. 

Her blonde curls that fell past her shoulders. Her annoying yet charming singing voice. Her giggles that would bubble up at inappropriate times, making Billy laugh, making her laugh harder until they made a raucous exit from _church. a museum. a book reading_. 

Billy isn’t made of gunmetal, though. He isn’t black and white - isn’t unfeeling and cold. His tears fall onto Steve’s thigh.

Steve runs his fingers through Billy’s hair and whispers gentle words _baby it’s okay I got you I’ll always have you_ , his words like the sun’s warmth that lifts the fog from the playing field. 

Billy thinks that maybe those old westerns got it all wrong. The perfect life might not be dispassionate solitude. Sometimes it’s soft brown hair and soothing tones and unhurried kisses and _I love you – I love you Billy_.

**Author's Note:**

> another drabble from tumblr <3 feel free to come find me there! [tracy7307](http://tracy7307.tumblr.com/)


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